


give love a bad name

by merwinist



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: "could have been better considering YOU SHOT ME", 'hey honey how was your day', Alternate Universe - Mob, Anniversary, Established Relationship, M/M, Mafia AU, This was based on a tumblr post, eggsy is the don, i was originally writing it for eggsyobsessed anyway and today is their anniversary, i've been trying to write this au like 6 different ways for over a week, merlin is the fuzz, so that gave me the extra piece i needed to pull this together, tbh i feel like this fic could have been better but also i'm DONE, this oneshot is as good as it gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20246884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merwinist/pseuds/merwinist
Summary: Chief Inspector Hamish Clanahan is not having a good day.Eggsy "Arthur" Unwin isn't either.How are the two connected?





	give love a bad name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eggsyobsessed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggsyobsessed/gifts).

> A very happy anniversary to you, eggsyobsessed! I hope you accept my humble fic offering from when I promised you on tumblr last week (eep)

“Fuck!” The pained cry echoes around the empty warehouse’s small office. Lying on a beaten leather couch is a blond young man; he’s clutching his bloodied shoulder as his friend leans over him.  
  
“This would be easier if you’d sit still!” she cries out, brandishing a pair of tweezers dramatically. Another young man with dark skin cracks the door open and peeks his head around.  
  
“I’ve got whiskey.” He holds out the bottle but doesn’t come all the way into the room, making the woman go to him. When she reaches for it, he murmurs, “We’re looking for the rat now. Should I deal with her when we find her or bring her to you?”  
  
A quick glance over her shoulder shows that her friend and boss’ face is set in a tight grimace. “I trust you to take care of it, Jamal. Find out everything you can.”  
  
“Roxanne!” Both of them jump into action, Jamal shutting the door with a quiet click while Roxanne returns, pouring a capful of the liquor for him to take a shot of. He downs it gratefully but the scowl quickly returns. “On our fuckin’ anniversary, too. Let’s get this over with, maybe I can still salvage dinner.”  
  
Roxanne hesitates, eyebrows meeting in the middle of her forehead. “Are you sure going home is the best idea, Eggsy? After all, you did just _get shot.”_  
  
He waves off the concern with his uninjured arm. “Look, are ya gonna do it, or am I gonna hafta meself?” Disregarding the cap, he grabs the bottle and takes another long swallow before pouring a generous amount on the wound. “I’d like ta get ‘ome afore he does, so let’s get this show on the road, Roxy.”  
  
She sighs, but as his second-in-command she can’t really do anything but obey. He may be young, and usually treats his subordinates well, but Eggsy can’t allow himself to seem weak. Life in the criminal underworld is cutthroat. The day’s whole clusterfuck was probably arranged by someone looking to horn in on some area of Eggsy’s influence.  
  
She understands, but that doesn’t mean she enjoys digging a bullet out of her friend and sewing the hole shut.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Chief Inspector Hamish Clanahan is not having a good day. His one year anniversary with his husband, a day that should have been happy, has become one of the most stressful in recent memory. All he wants is to sink into the couch and veg out in front of the telly.  
  
Unfortunately, he knows that’s not in the cards. His gun is already drawn as he walks into the home he shares with a man he thought he’d known better than anyone. The only light on the ground floor comes from the sitting room, but he still sweeps the kitchen and dining area as he passes. When the tread of his boots on a floorboard makes a squeak, his husband calls out, “Come on now, dear. There’s no need ta make a production, is there?”  
  
They both have guns drawn, Hamish sees as he sharply turns the corner. “Give me one good reason why I should nae arrest ye right here an’ now.”  
  
That blond-haired beauty, the boy - well, man, no matter how often he called him lad - he’d fallen in love with over drinks, tilts his head back with a small smirk. “I could give you three hundred and sixty-five, if you like.”  
  
He can’t stop a long sigh from escaping through his nose. “Was all of this - falling in love with me, getting married - was it all just so ye could keep a pet bobby in yer pocket?” It has always seemed incomprehensible to a bald, middle-aged man well past his prime that someone young and vivacious would choose him for true. This scenario plays into his deepest insecurities. It had taken not inconsiderable courage for him to approach a young man who seemed to have been stood up by a date, asking if he’d like company at the bar instead.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
Except Eggsy flinches, his gun dipping down slightly. “And here I was thinkin’ ya’ve just been waiting ta arrest me fer a career advancement. I ain’t never planned ta bring the biz inta our house, our bed. Why ya think I never wanna talk about work?”  
  
Hamish wants to believe it so badly that he can’t trust himself to be objective. Not without more information. He steps further into the room, walking around the furniture to the bar, where he does something his superintendent would probably rip him a new arsehole for: he turns his back, setting his gun and badge on the polished wood while he pours himself what is definitely four fingers of whatever scotch is closest at the moment. He takes a moment to school his face before turning around and leaning back against the bar. “Fer as long as that sits there,” he gestures with his glass, “I’ll nae arrest ye fer anything ye tell me. But ye have ta answer my questions honest as ye can, and if I dinnae believe ye’ve done so, I’ll be using these.” He pulls a pair of Met-issued cuffs from the back pocket of his kit, slapping them next to the badge.  
  
While Eggsy takes a moment to consider that, Hamish throws back several hearty swallows and then refills the glass. Shooting his husband and then finding some way to avoid putting that on official paperwork had given him a headache of migrainic proportions.  
  
“Merlin,” is all the lad says with a quiet sigh, letting Hamish know he’s agreed before the pistol is even placed on the table at his elbow. “Ya gotta know I ain’t some scumbag.”  
  
“I ken many criminals delude themselves inta thinking they are nae hurting anyone,” he says pointedly. He knows it will get Eggsy’s back up, being compared to his stepda, but the more off balance he is, the more likely it is Merlin will trust his answers. “So how does someone barely past thirty end up running a crime syndicate?”  
  
Over the next several hours, Merlin learns more about the Kingsman Syndicate than he’d ever expected to. They’ve always been good at covering their tracks, always staying just under the radar. The only reason Merlin can trust that Eggsy hasn’t been using _him_ as an unwitting mole is that the Kingsman have been nigh untraceable for the last seven years, after the very public arrest of their leader Chester King. According to the new boss, a well-placed friend or two in different departments and generous bribes keep them a step ahead — usually. Eggsy had only been caught in the crossfire today because he’d been an unexpected addition to a planned raid on a smaller, rougher gang. Apparently the Kingsman do their best to regulate the criminal underground — Merlin has wondered about the drop in overdoses and violent gun crimes in the last few years, and apparently he can attribute that to his husband.  
  
“We don’t sell ta kids, we don’t cut our shit with toxins, an’ we don’ allow _anyone_ ta import people or automatic weapons,” Eggsy declares with distaste.  
  
By the time Merlin’s interrogation is finished, it’s going on three in the morning and he’s fairly sloshed. “I just… Being married ta ye could end my career, ye realize?”  
  
That earns him a deadpan stare. “Bein’ married ta _you_ got me shot, guv. On our anniversary, no less!” Eggsy’s had a few drinks as well, but they don’t seem to be doing much for the pain. He gestures a bit too widely with his arm and winces.  
  
“If I’d been aiming ta kill, ye’d nae be around ta complain,” Merlin informs him dryly.  
  
“Oh, what a huge relief, me ‘usband don’t want me dead. My neck o’ the woods, that’s as close to true love as it gets.” The little punk’s tone is sarcastic, but Merlin knows enough about the Estates to know it’s not far from the truth.  
  
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just dinnae ken where we go from here. Ye made it out the back before the other constables saw ye, but Chief Inspector Percival Morton was right there with me.”  
  
He doesn’t like the smile he gets in response, or what it means for his department.


End file.
